


Tick

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Rape, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki makes good on his promise to Natasha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tick

He is looking at her and his eyes are dead.

Natasha tells herself Clint is dead, he must be dead, please let this be his corpse, shambling and decayed. A meat puppet. A thing.

Please let him be dead.

The Trickster liar god crouches from a few feet away, hands on his knees and a wide grin on his thin face. If her hands were free, if her feet were, if she could stretch the joints of her body three inches more to dislodge some part of her bonds, Loki would not grin.

She flexes each muscle, one at a time, testing. Loki's eyes rake over her, watching the twitch of each individual inch. She is naked. Nothing is hidden.

"Disrobe," says the monster, and Clint moves sausage fingers to the bottom of his shirt to slide it over his belly. His muscles all wrong, he pulls down his pants. She has seen him nude before: they are soldiers, deep down at the core of them. Now he is limp, his cock and his arms. The war is over. He lost. She lost.

Sometimes from outside the walls, Natasha hears screams.

"Now, kiss her."

She knows how this goes. Loki will order Clint to hurt her until she cries, except he'll never stop hurting her.

His mouth is slack, gummy like a baby or like an old man. He's warm, which is worse because if he was cold she could continue to believe her friend isn't in there, somewhere, screaming inside his own head.

Loki begins with her gun. Of course he does. Her weapon is her symbol, not that she needs it: her weapon could be a fist, or a foot. Her gun is cold as Clint slides it over her breasts. She wants to shout at him, wants to beg him to shoot her now because this will never get better. But she won't give Loki the satisfaction.

Clint strokes her nipples, strokes her neck. He brings it to her lips, and Loki instructs her, "Suck it."

Instead of replying, she bites down hard on her own lips, refusing. He can get it into her mouth, but he will have to break her teeth to get there.

"Punch her," Loki says, and there's only a hint of hesitation before Clint's fist smashes into her jaw, definitely dislodging a tooth, shooting pain through her head. Blood dribbles through her lips, and gagging, she tries to swallow, hopes to choke. Instead of forcing her to fellate the barrel, Clint rubs the tip over her bloody mouth, gathering spit.

"I suppose that will do." Loki's voice is filled with honey as he tells Clint, "Fuck her with the gun."

Amateur, Natasha thinks. A good torturer would have her screaming for hours before violating her. Loki is like a spoiled child: all bravado and big talk, no imagination. If she's lucky, she can turn this to her advantage.

It's this thought she grasps at as the gun draws a red line down between her breasts, down to her pubic hair and her sex, exposed by the spread position of her legs. Clint's hand is trembling. Part of him is aware, is fighting the control Loki has on him, but it's not enough. The tip of her gun barrel enters her, and it hurts, God it hurts, she bites on the pain in her mouth to keep from crying out as he pushes and invades, tearing sores into her.

Her body is hers. She can control every motion she makes. She will not twist and strain and try to get away from this awful intrusion, she will not give Loki the pleasure.

From his chuckle, she knows he already knows.

Tears crest the edges of Clint's eyes, he's aware, knows what he is doing to her.

"Now now," Loki says, breath catching a little. "Don't just push into her, give her some in and out. Really make her feel it."

Arm trembling, he begins thrusting the gun, sending new currents of torment through her with each motion. She wants to bend her head, wants to see how badly she is bleeding, but she can't move even that far. Her resolve not to move or cry is crumbling. Shocks spark through her, pinning her into place.

Natasha moans, deep in her throat, the only sop to her agony.

"I told you she was a needy slut, didn't I?"

Clint is weeping behind the mask Loki has placed over his features. Natasha learned how not to weep years ago.

"Stop." Loki's voice cuts through them. Clint removes the gun. She feels nothing but ache everywhere.

"Make her taste it." The gun is pushed roughly against her mouth this time, and she is too numb to fight as it slides between her bloody lips, bashing against the broken tooth. She tastes blood, she tastes her own body. She will not pretend to suck even now.

Loki seems to understand this part will not provide him with any fun. "Put the gun down."

And for one moment, she thinks, this is their moment. Clint can break free enough to move his arm, to shoot Loki, to free them from this hell. Or just to squeeze the trigger and end hers.

But he is dead, and he sets the gun out of her reach, and she swears inside her head.

"Make her suck your cock instead."

Clint freezes. Natasha freezes. Clint can't fight, watches himself in horror as he grabs her head and wrenches her bleeding jaw open.

He hardens in her mouth, plumping like a bun that grows in the oven, she thinks trying not to think. He thrusts his hips in and out, commands deeper than Loki's guiding him as he fucks into her mouth. She can hear Loki's breathing strain, and if she looks over, she's sure he will be jerking himself. But she can't see anything except Clint's body, can't taste anything except his dick and her own blood.

Misery takes her and she sobs around him, earning herself an even deeper thrust.

"Stop!"

It's a shrill shout. Loki is on an edge of his own, and Natasha is too busy trying to breathe to even imagine what he wants next. Maybe he'll have Clint jerk over her face. Maybe Loki will join him. She's desperate for that, for the semen to land on her face and this phase of torment to end.

Clint's breaths are ragged. He's hard and ready, his cock covered with her spit.

"Now sodomize her."

Her legs have just enough give. Her body does not as he jerks her thighs apart. She has only a moment's warning, the blunt head of him against her, before Clint fucks into her hard. The gun had hurt but this is white hot pain shooting up her spine, and flesh tearing apart.

Natasha screams and it doesn't stop. Clint pounds into her, his own mind trapped, his body under Loki's control, and he is hurting her, God, please stop, please stop. She claws her hands but there is no purchase, she twists and contorts with nowhere to flee. Clint rides her fear and agony.

Loki is beside her now, and his hand is trembling as he spurts hotly over Natasha's face. She can't see for the tears streaming down her own face, and Clint's face is wet, his eyes murderous towards the vicious little god. But he doesn't stop fucking her, he doesn't stop raping her. Natasha is screaming, realizes she hasn't stopped babbling, "No, no, please, no."

And the worst thing in the cosmos is Loki's wide grin, and his hand, sticky with his own come, that dives between her legs, grabbing her clit roughly.

"Tell me how much you're loving this, you insignificant cunt."

She's shaking her head, but his voice seeps into her ears, rewriting her wants. She aches, she hurts, Clint pounds into her ass harder.

"Please, no," she says, and Loki thumbs her clit hard.

Natasha screams again, an unwanted orgasm burning her, no, she can't come from this, she doesn't want this.

Her ass is bleeding, is aching, and Clint isn't stopping, and Loki pushes her through a second orgasm, whispering, "Say yes. Say you want this. Beg him to fuck you. Or I will keep you both here like this for days."

Tears and snot dribbling down her face, she shakes her head no. She will not beg to be raped. She will not. Loki shoves his fingers into her vagina, tugging the broken flesh he finds, violating her as Clint's head snaps back in his own climax.

"Beg," says Loki, and he twists, and Natasha shouts through another full-body spasm of pain-pleasure.

"Please, yes," she gasps, hating him, hating herself, please let this end.

He flicks her clit again. "Yes what?"

"Please fuck me," she grits out, and Clint thrusts into her again, his erection deflating.

"What a good girl," Loki purrs. He withdraws his hand. Clint pulls out, and she can see the horrific mess on his cock. That's her. She's broken inside.

She flops her head over. She can see her gun. But she'll never be allowed to reach it.

"Wasn't that fun?" Loki preens, and he goes to the table.

He turns with his staff in his hand. For a moment, Natasha hopes. Phil died with the thing thrust through his body. Loki could kill her now, as he killed her friends and her planet and her hope.

He tilts his head in interest. "Do you think Miss Potts will scream so well when I have you take her?"

Natasha's eyes open in horror as the tip of the staff looms into close view. No. NO. This is worse, so much worse. She shakes her head and tries to flee, wrists bloody with her bonds, tendons breaking, and she cannot escape.

Loki touches the staff against her heart.


End file.
